


Disappointed Masters

by Merfilly



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - McCaffrey
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, M/M, Plot What Plot, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-13
Updated: 2010-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 02:39:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/pseuds/Merfilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Piemur made Sebell a promise to come take his Journeyman classes...and broke it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disappointed Masters

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Если Мастер недоволен](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024354) by [Rhaina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaina/pseuds/Rhaina)



"Piemur..."

The journeyman flinched inwardly, but controlled it on the outside as he faced Master Sebell. He knew, without a doubt, that he really ought not to have let Ranly taunt him into throwing a punch. He thought it might have gone unnoticed, until Ranly came in, late on purpose, to the meal, his black eye glistening with ointment to make it stand out.

Piemur's eyes had stayed on his plate, but he had felt Sebell watching him, in the stead of Menolly and the MasterHarper. He was still Robinton's journeyman, as Sebell had been, as Menolly still was. That meant a certain discretion and control that Piemur had lost somewhere in the wilds of Southern.

"Come with me."

Piemur followed in silence, knowing Sebell was on the verge of his temper fraying. They had had this talk, when Sebell came for him. Sebell had told him, time and again, how little the Master needed to be disturbed by discipline matters, when the situation in the North was steadily getting worse. Piemur, in some ways, was very much a grown man, matured by the hardships of living in the South, but in other ways it had made his temper closer to the surface, made him a little more outspoken as Toric believed in speaking one's own mind. In the Hall, that wasn't always a good thing, as the altercation with Ranly was teaching him. He swallowed hard as Sebell turned to the room that was his on the master's hall, but he marched resolutely in. At least he wasn't an apprentice anymore, to be publicly punished. Although, he felt a moment's panic, as he recalled the private lashings that Shonagar had administered on those few times Piemur had really pushed the vocalist too far. There were some things he would have preferred to keep his very own secret, and such punishments, or their effect, fell firmly in that category.

He was suspecting that Sebell might have been pushed that far, and it...scared the journeyman in a way that he did not like admitting to. With Shonagar, Piemur had taken the beatings he had earned, and then been allowed to sneak off privately without question. That might not be quite so easy here.

"We talked. You promised. And now?" Sebell asked, voice full of his disappointment.

"I broke my word, Master. I am sorry."

"Sorry is not enough, Piemur, to save the Master any extra stress!" Sebell snapped. "What does it take, Piemur, to break you to the fact that your actions reflect directly on our Master?"

"I know they do!" Piemur shot off before he even thought, but when he saw Sebell's face darken, he knew it had been to hasty. "Look, let me just take the lashing...and maybe that'll be the reminder I need that I'm not in Toric's hold now," Piemur said. Not that he hadn't given Toric reason to want to lash him, but down there, he was an independent Craftsman. Here...he was subject to Hall punishment. Without waiting for more than Sebell to drop his hand to his belt, Piemur turned and stripped off his tunic. He took hold of the footrail of Sebell's bed, bracing for the inevitable blow. He knew it would not be gentle, for Sebell zealously guarded Master Robinton in all ways. Piemur actually felt the shame already, because he loved the Master as deeply, no matter what his rash actions said.

Maybe if it was hard enough...

Then the first blow fell, not across his shoulders as expected, but across the seat of his pants. They weren't wher-hide, either, so the full weight of the blow cracked into his skin, and made him jump. It stung, and worse, it took him right back to apprentice days, when he'd take the pain and push it into fervent imagination. The twitch of his cock was too noticeable in the loose cloth of his pants, at least to himself. If he was very lucky, he'd be able to just carry his tunic in front of him and leave quickly, but the second blow fell with an increased sting, delivered with a stronger arm. Sebell was warming up, and had excellent accuracy in the blows. The first had landed firmly across his right cheek; the second hit the left just as squarely, and when the third hit, Piemur thought Sebell was traditional in the switching of sides, letting him latch onto a rhythm.

His cock swelled, jumping with every sting of the leather on his skin, with only a thin layer of cotton between them. Piemur was biting his lip, but when he had prepared for a left and got swatted on the right, directly over the previous stripe, he gasped with almost musical tones in the moan that he let escape.

The next blow did not fall, the belt resting in the Master's hand loosely.

"Piemur." The voice was quiet, eased of temper now, but the journeyman almost feared it more.

"Yes, Master Sebell?" he managed to say, his skin burning, his cock aching, and his knuckles still white on the footrail of the bed.

"Turn around."

Piemur obeyed, slowly, body hunching a little in hopes of keeping the loose pants from betraying him...hating that even in the shame of discovery, he was still hard and wishing he could just disappear to his room before the other journeymen got there.

Sebell's eyes flicked from head to toe, lingering briefly, a knowing look in his eyes. "When you sit down, remember your promise," he said firmly. He then moved, swifter than Piemur could react as he concentrated on not letting that strong voice make him even more noticeably aroused. Sebell's fingers caught and forced the younger man's chin up, their bodies in one another's space. "At least...once you can think again." The raw, rough arousal in Sebell's own voice was too much to ignore, drawing Piemur into pressing against that firm body in front of him.

Sebell had known, Piemur realized, skin flushing as he felt proof of mutual desire.

"You're not the first harper to take a lashing and make it something else," Sebell told him in answer to unspoken questions, before his hands came down to grip the savaged backside of the journeyman. Piemur hissed and moaned in one breath at the fire there, at the rough texture of cotton pressing into lashed skin.

Piemur's imagination took that, remembering just who Sebell's master was, and he moaned again, moving his hips between the grasping hands and the thigh now sliding between his legs. He closed his eyes, shame mingling with desire at the thought of Sebell being lashed and aroused by Robinton himself. The hands on his tender backside held him mercilessly close, and then there was a shift, a push and settling before the thigh was pressed tight to his cock. Fingers flexed in silent command, making Piemur move, tortured by touch, by the fabric, by the restriction as his pants were gathered and held to trap his cock just so.

He wasn't going to last long, not with the strength in Sebell's guiding hands. It all felt so rough, so raw with illicit pleasure, and then his body was straining, lost in the sensation of it all, no pain now, just pleasure and hunger and release. It was like soaring on the end of an aria delivered perfectly, and he never wanted it to end...

...until it did, and he was cradled tight to Sebell's chest, gasping for breath in a way Shonagar would have chided him for. As sensation returned to a proper level, he could feel how painful his backside was, feel the stickiness of his pants, and smell the musk of it. He risked a look at Sebell, seeing that calm temperament back in full command.

"Don't break your promise to me again," Sebell warned him gently, before slipping him away so they could both gather their full composure. Piemur wriggled into his tunic, glad it hung low enough to obscure the wetness of his pants long enough to get to the washroom near his dormitory room.

"I think I've got a solid reminder," Piemur replied, cheekily, to show he was still himself. Sebell smiled, then swatted him once lightly.

"I can reinforce it if I have to," he warned, but the playful look in his eyes told the journeyman that all was well between them, for now. Piemur nodded, then moved toward the door, pausing there.

"Sebell?" he asked, leaving off the title, to show this one was personal. Sebell met his eyes. "It's not weird?"

Sebell snorted. "Apparently, it goes back to the earliest days of the Hall. There's a reason some Apprentices are favored by their Masters, despite no obvious gifts...."

That was more than Piemur wanted to hear, knowing just which Apprentices of his original group Sebell had to mean. He left then, swiftly, full of thoughts on punishment and loyalty, as well as feeling every single welt on his backside with a small sense of pride.

After all, Sebell had wanted him enough to make it personal.


End file.
